


Speed Dating

by blanchards



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Sokka (Avatar)-centric, idiots to lovers, sokka after getting hit by a literal car: I'll just walk this off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchards/pseuds/blanchards
Summary: Wherein Sokka loses his keys, gets hit by a car, watches star trek and tries to seduce a doctor - not necessarily in that order.
Relationships: Minor Suki/Ty Lee, Sokka & Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 496





	Speed Dating

**Author's Note:**

> Tfw you start writing a joke fic and it ends up 6k words long. Big love to the discord for helping me out a ton on this one, and to the lovely [Sin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snymph12/pseuds/snymph12) for proofreading <3

“Katara. Katara _listen_ to me- yes. Yes I know... Katara- of _course_ I looked. I did. I looked _both_ ways, _both_ handsome _and_ radiant. Get it? Anyway yeah. Yeah I did get hit by a car.”

Sokka sighs and pulls the phone away from his ear. From this angle, the shouting is at least slightly less likely to give him a migraine. He pushes his head back against the cold plastered wall and leaves it there whilst he waits for his sister to tire herself out. The emergency department at St Agni’s Hospital is usually a quiet affair on a Tuesday afternoon. Sokka’s no expert, not really, but he’s been in and out over enough minor injuries to get a general feel of the place. Today seems no different: a group of hypochondriac pensioners, someone in a sports uniform with a sprained wrist. Children, arriving approximately 15 minutes after playing unsupervised with crayons or beads. A man in the corner exhibits a particularly impressive nosebleed. Sokka’s phone displays a low battery screen and he winces. 

“Katara. l- look- my phones gonna die, yeah, really it is. Why would I lie about that? Look- Yeah. No. _Don’t_ ring dad - seriously I’m fine. I’ll tell him myself. I will, later. Yeah. Okay. Okay! I’m gonna go now. Low battery- Katara. Can’t hear you, going now. Love you! Bye!”

His phone makes a residual dying beep as the screen finally goes black. The woman situated at the reception desk is looking at him with far more sympathy than he probably deserves. Sokka offers her a bashful smile as she produces a charging cable from behind the counter. He hobbles over. 

“Just a sprain?” She asks, holding it out towards him.

“Hopefully.”

He tenderly rubs at where his hip is throbbing in protest. The pain lands just on the right side of unbearable, although his regrets about standing up come immediately. He reaches out for the cable instinctively with his left hand, before a current of sharp pain jolts through his wrist, forcing him to recoil slightly. The receptionist’s eyebrows furrow deeper together. 

“Let me, honey.” She gently takes his phone from his other hand and plugs it in, the screen lighting up with a charging symbol. Sokka murmurs his thanks and returns to his seat, settling in for a very long haul. 

There are certain areas, liminal spaces, wherein time passes differently to the outside world. Schools in the evening, airports, _IKEA_. Sokka finds himself in that same alternate timeline now; he isn’t sure whether it’s been five hours or minutes. The kind blonde woman has vanished. If it weren’t for the lack of windows he’d almost assume it to be evening, although it’s impossible to be sure. Time almost eludes him entirely, but eventually, his name is called from behind a doorway. He jumps at the noise, surveying his surroundings, pointedly ignoring the aching igniting in his side at the sudden movement. And then it comes again. A very bored female voice drawls out as a tall, dark-haired woman reads from a clipboard. 

“Mr Isumatu, Sokka? Sokka Isumatu?”

She clicks her pen, poised to strike his name off the list right as Sokka’s cognitive functions return to him. 

“Uh hi. That’s me.” His left arm waves automatically to identify himself and he grimaces at the pain. Dark-haired-woman levels a firm look at him over the top of her clipboard, mouth set in a straight line.

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” His right side disagrees, sending him staggering slightly towards the wall as he moves forward. The woman, _Mai_ her name tag reads as he gets closer, purses her lips together but doesn’t make any move to stop him. She does, at least, stretch out towards his good arm and steady him slightly when he wavers. 

“You’re sure you can walk?” She asks, gripping him firmer now he’s within reach. “I can get you a chair, we’re just down the hall.” Her eyes flicker to a row of wheelchairs and then back to, seemingly, their destination. He shakes his head and throws her a smile.

“I don’t need _transporting_.” He laughs, “I’ll be fine.”

They walk - well, _Mai_ walks, Sokka gives a very determined limping performance - until they reach a slightly ajar door at the end of the corridor. She gently tugs him through behind her with far more clemency than her demeanour suggests.

“Isumatu.” She announces guiding him to a chair. “Sokka.” 

“You came on foot?”

There’s only one other person in the room; an older man with deep tan skin and long black hair tied up into a knot. He pointedly raises an eyebrow toward Mai as he speaks. She shrugs simply and rolls her eyes, just a little.

“He insisted.”

He nods, contemplatively. “I’ll be with you in one moment Mr Isumatu.” The doctor resumes typing presumably a very lengthy report from behind his computer screen, the keyboard clicking fills the room, pausing only once when a loud chime interrupts. An email notification, unmistakably. A small look of relief washes over the man's face before he turns his attention back towards Mai, “You can leave now, Miss Sasaki, thank you for all your help. Dr Homura should be here shortly.” Seemingly already exhausted and desperate for an out; the woman bows curtly to both of them and turns on her heel swiftly. The door is shut behind her before the invitation can even linger in the air. 

“Mr Isumatu,” he continues, rifling through notes and clicking at computer tabs. He locks onto Sokka from above his screen with such a calm intensity that he almost shrinks, “My name is Doctor Piandao, what brings you here today?” 

Under the man’s scrupulous gaze, Sokka freezes. Explaining his injury (and the manner in which it happened) does not seem like the most ideal situation. 

It hadn’t been entirely his fault. Perhaps 80%. To look at it analytically, which Sokka so often loved to do, there was a minute possibility it could have been avoided. Had the driver in question been paying even closer attention, the whole collision _might_ not have happened. Though it was unfair to pin it all on him, he thinks, especially when the guy had seemed so guilt-stricken and panicked. (And he was _completely gorgeous_ , as Sokka remembers, but that was largely irrelevant.) He’d pulled over immediately, apologising profusely and offering medical assistance, something about working for a hospital, but the agonising throbbing in his hip and arm had drowned the man out. There was no doubt that Sokka himself was primarily responsible for the accident - anyone within a five mile radius could have seen that - but the fact that this man was still so wholly remorseful and eager to help definitely made his heart bleed a little. That was why, he supposes, he’d completely rejected it, much to the attractive stranger's dismay. Sokka had practically implored the driver to leave him there. He vaguely remembers arguments of _‘just a scratch’_ and _‘I’ll walk it off’,_ but as the heightening pain now bleeds through to his memories they all grow entirely too fuzzy. Regardless, that was how he’d found himself limping towards the local hospital, teeth gritted, and in turn that was how he found himself there. Under a stare that would rip his story to shreds should it learn the entirety of it. Had it been the smartest decision he’d ever made? No. But Sokka apparently couldn’t resist a beautiful man with a concerned frown, and these were his consequences to bear. 

Nobody needed to know that, though. 

“Um- there may have been a minor collision involving me and.. uh... a car?”

Dr Piandao’s brow manages to shoot even further towards his hairline, the medic immediately beginning to slide around the desk and come closer. “A car?”

“Yeah uh, an _Audi_. I think- silver.” Sokka babbles, “It- it wasn’t that bad, really, just. Hurts.”

Piandao’s eyebrows knit together, “You’re lucky to be in one piece.” He gently adjusts Sokka’s left wrist to inspect the bruising there. He flinches, the man frowns, “Can you stand?” 

He struggles to his feet with some difficulty, injured joints already growing stiffer. He reaches out to balance himself, again with the wrong arm, and visibly pails at the roaring discomfort.

“Sorry,” the doctor offers a small apologetic look, steadying Sokka with his own weight and leading him over to the examination table, “we should have another doctor coming shortly to assist me. Just here.” He lowers him down, “Try and stretch your leg out for me- is it your hip?”

“Yeah uh- just- ow!” The throbbing in his side grows with every twist and prod. Sokka grits his teeth and grimaces.

Piandao sighs, pulling back. “How long ago did this happen, Sokka?”

“Oh um, not that long ago. I came here straight away.”

The doctor blanches, “You walked?”

“No.” He lies, Piandao doesn’t look as if he fully believes him, but shakes his head and seems to let it go.

“Well, you’re bruised pretty badly - your arm’s not in good shape. We’ll send you for an x-ray and get you some pain meds. I think-” 

They both seem to spot it at the same time. A flash of blue scrubs and dark hair. A tall man stands in the doorway, face stricken. A vision of a man who’s seen a ghost. Sokka imagines his own to be of similar calibre. “Ah,” Piandao chirps, interrupting himself, “Doctor Homura. Nice of you to join us.” The man nods and lets out a slightly strangled noise of affirmation. He’s pointedly looking anywhere but directly at them. “Could you take this young man down for an x-ray?” 

Doctor Homura grows even paler. 

He rubs at his neck, “What’s- what’s broken?” 

“Oh!” The senior doctor chatters away distractedly, seemingly unaware of the fact his colleague’s sanity hangs in the balance of an x-ray scan, “No real breakages, I suspect. Mostly a soft tissue problem with the hip. Nominal fracture in the arm.” He looks up at Sokka reassuringly, “At worst.” Back to the man in the doorway, “Doctor?”

“Of course.” He strides towards them easily, smoothing his anxiety over with a neutral expression and sweeping Sokka up from under his arm. The contact burns. Touch punctuated by the heady smell of whatever cologne he wears; citrusy and warm. Sokka follows him down the hall blindly, and supposes he might anywhere. 

***

“You should have let me bring you here.” The man flips through his chart with a disgruntled scowl. The x-ray was a fairly painless ordeal, minus of course the literal pain practically oozing from Sokka’s pores. He eye’s up the small pot of painkillers sitting before him with renowned gratitude. 

“So what’s the verdict, doc?” He gulps down the water and pills with vigour, “Am I gonna I make it?” 

He receives a very exhausted look. 

“Unfortunately.” 

Sokka punches the air in mock celebration and regrets it instantaneously. 

“ _Honestly_ ,” The doctor grumbles, walking over to help him, “Mr Isumatu, I am asking you, as a medical professional, _stop_ doing that.” He lowers his arm slightly, the chiding tone is only slightly managing to veil his obvious concern. 

“Sokka.”

He pulls back slightly, “What?”

“My name’s Sokka. We might as well get acquainted, since you hit me with your car and all.”

A wince. He looks away. “Sorry about that.”

“Naw,” he gestures, this time with his uninjured wrist, “it’s okay, really,” Sokka leans in ever so slightly to catch better sight of the man’s name tag, “Zuko.” He perks up, “Hey! Do I get a cast?”

 _Zuko_ narrows his eyes, “No. It’s a sprain, no broken bones. You get a sling, _maybe_ a brace. Stay here.”

“Do I have a choice?” he calls out behind him.

“No!” 

Sokka pouts. _What’s this guy’s problem? First, he collides into him, all worried and gentle. Now he acts all cold? It’s HIS fault Sokka’s even in this mess. Kind of. What happened to feeling bad for the people you hit with your car?_

“I found you a brace, and some more painkillers to take home,” Zuko looks up, meeting the boy’s puzzled expression with one of his own, “is- is everything okay Mr Isumatu?”

“ _Sokka_. And no, are you always this grumpy with your patients?”

The man’s eyes go wide, he frowns. “Sorry,” he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck again, noticeably staring away at the ceiling as he does so, “I suppose I just feel guilty, for- for what happened.” His eyebrows pinch together as he resumes eye-contact, “You really should have let me bring you here sooner.”

“Well,” Sokka folds his arms, flinching slightly and ignoring Zuko’s exasperated expression when he does, “I didn’t know you’d take me _here,_ you could- you could have been a murderer!” The medicine is slightly kicking in now, thoughts congealing into a hazy picture, Sokka wonders if it’s noticeable, “Maybe this is your system.”

“My… system?”

“Yeah you crash into attractive men, and once they’re down, you drive them to a secondary location.” He smiles triumphantly, “I think I saw that happen once-”

Zuko cuts him off, lunging towards him frantically, “Would you lower your voice.” He hisses. He gently grabs Sokka’s arm and begins to fix him into the brace with meticulous precision, practised fingers working deftly against fabric. “And that’s ridiculous.” he continues, almost directly into his ear. Sokka suppresses a shiver from the sensation. “ _You_ walked out in front of _me_.” He steps away, examining his handiwork. Sokka stares at him, dazed, as his eyes scrupulously rake him over. Somehow, the fog that clouds his inhibitions no longer seems entirely attributed to the painkillers. If Zuko recognises this, then he doesn’t say. 

“You should go home. Get some rest for the next few days. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.” As an afterthought, he narrows his eyes again into a positively devastating look, “Don’t cross the road and play candy crush next time.” 

Sokka splutters, “How did you-”

“When I got out of the car, and you were lying on the ground, and I was thinking ‘ _oh fuck, I’ve genuinely just killed this guy_ ’, plotting the rest of my life in jail for manslaughter, you know,” he leans up against the examination desk with folded arms and a slight smirk, Sokka desperately pretends it isn’t killing him, “the only sound I could hear? Was the _insufferable_ chiming of that game.”

“So you recognise it.” Sokka wiggles his eyebrows. Zuko rolls his eyes, turning away. 

“Go home Sokka. Don’t walk this time.”

“Okay, okay,” he raises his arms - one arm - in defeat, “I’ll call a car, uh before I go-”

“Yes?” 

“Don’t you, wanna, uh-” Zuko raises a singular eyebrow, shooting him a half-interested expression over his shoulder, “exchange numbers? Maybe? J- Just because! Like, uh, for legal reasons?”

“Legal… reasons?” He sounds the words out slowly, turning around in disbelief, “You’re going to press charges?”

“I might.”

Zuko sighs, running a hand over his face, beneath his fingers, cast amongst the porcelain features is a vibrant red scar, licking upwards from his cheek to his ear. It makes him somehow even more striking, as if such a thing was possible. Sokka thinks he might like to stare at it forever. Amber eyes, boring directly through him now, tell him that outcome is unlikely. 

“I’m a doctor, Mr Isumatu, on duty. I’m flattered but,” the brief flare of crimson on his cheeks could almost go unnoticed. For Sokka, eagerly drinking up every aspect and detail, it doesn’t. “you can’t have my number. I’m sorry.” And he really looks like he is. 

“If it’s for ‘legal reasons’” the doubt in his tone is audible, “then you can get my employer details from the desk downstairs, that should suffice.” _He genuinely seems apologetic._ “Go home. Rest.”

“Well, okay. I might. Um, I’ll- if I need the details I mean-” he trips over his words, still caught like a deer in headlights under Zuko’s stare. The man sighs.

“Go. Home.” 

Sokka does.

***

And he does rest, truly. He takes the painkillers, takes the time off work, really he plans diligently to do everything ordered of him. So Sokka really can’t say why, three days later, at 10:30 PM on a Friday night, he’s _not_ asleep but rather stood in his local bar, instead. Like many things that he does, or that happen to him, there is very little explanation. Despite his continuing best efforts to plan every aspect of his life - sometimes there are no whys or becauses. He’s stood in a bar, between his friends and an absurd amount of tequila, because he just is. 

No sooner has his shot glass touched the wooden counter, another is thrust in his direction. The entire night has been proceeding as such. It started with a phone call, one from a very excited Suki and information of a new bartender down the road. It started with a phone call, and a very small white lie. Sokka is still in a decently annoying deal of pain, but the medicine works great and really, if nothing else, he was a good friend (and three days alone in his room drove him mad). He accepted the invitation with no further thinking. So, he finds himself, amongst the thrumming of music and chattering of voices, swaying slightly past the point of return. He finds himself staring down the floorboards, as the woman in front of them leans in over the counter, twirls her hair, and bewitches Suki with flawless charm. He finds himself wedged, on the precipice between enjoyment and regret. And that’s when he sees him, from the back of a booth, eyes wide, incredulous. Ironically Sokka almost has the urge to run, which he definitely would, if he could maybe walk first. 

For a second, it looks like Zuko might not do anything. Just, perhaps, keep watching, endlessly until he really does burn a hole right through him. Sokka would be so lucky. He gets up. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His tone is a mixture of something concerned but also amused, as if he’s daring Sokka to justify his actions. 

“What are _you_ doing here? Hm?” Sokka points his small glass towards the other man in an accusatory fashion, clear liquid slipping over the sides. Zuko levels him with a discouraging look. “I very clearly told you to go home, and _rest_.” He gestures emphatically around him, “You call this resting?”

Sokka looks back at him with a thoughtful expression, then back towards his shot. Sure, it might not have been his brightest idea - he wonders briefly if _any_ idea he’s had this week could qualify for that title - but he’s having fun, isn't he? He throws back the contents of his glass.

“Tequila is rest… For the soul.” 

Zuko glares.

“Sokka even _you_ don’t look like you believe those words.” 

And he doesn’t, truthfully. But the spirits coursing through his bloodstream warm him, and the blinding hot focus of Zuko’s full attention practically _lights him on fire_. He claps his good hand on the man’s shoulder, keeping his left, injured, one safely tucked away. As if that counts for anything, when he’s already directly disobeying the doctor's orders - and right to his face. 

“You want one?” 

He shakes his head firmly. 

“Come on!” Sokka leans forward, a little _too_ forward, almost overbalancing entirely. “Have a drink with me. Just one.”

“I don’t drink.” Zuko continues to glower at him, “And you shouldn’t either, with the medicine we put you on. Jesus, do you _exclusively_ make bad life decisions?”

Sokka hums, accepting another shot from Suki, who is now practically leaning over his shoulder in piqued interest. “You’re hot when you’re feisty.” 

The way that Zuko’s entire face changes to match his scar is something he wants to photograph. His eyes seem to flicker through all five stages of grief in rapid-fire succession. When they land on ‘acceptance’, he speaks.

“Shut up. I’m taking you home.” 

“Oh?” The voice comes from the woman behind them, still watching, eyebrows arched. Zuko seems to catch onto her insinuation years before Sokka does; all previous colour reignites in his face as he panics. 

“N-not like that! I’m a doctor!” Suki’s expression falls slightly from entertained to confused. It cycles through to realisation as her eyes snap to her friend.

“Sokka,” she warns, pulling his shoulder so he turns towards her, she narrows her eyes, just enough to convey her suspicion, “you told us you were fine to come out tonight.”

Somewhere behind him, growing simultaneously closer and further away, Zuko definitely scoffs. He offers an apologetic look between the two of them.

“Well!” he slaps his knee enthusiastically, “It’s been fun, but I’m sensing I should probably go now.”

“You think so?” A husky voice grumbles beside him, but when Sokka turns to face him head on, all anger has drained from Zuko’s face. Replaced with something a lot more like exhaustion; the same expression he wore when turning him down at the hospital. Something that teeters on the edge of fondness, that threatens to fall into a private smile. It’s a look Sokka could stand to see a lot more of in his life, he thinks. 

“Come on,” the man pulls his jacket from the counter space before them, “I believe I owe you one, anyway.” Zuko thrusts the fabric into his arms as Sokka finds his balance on his feet; he shoots him a vaguely disapproving look at the way in which he sways, but doesn’t comment on it. “Ty Lee, put his stuff on my tab, can you?” She nods happily with what Sokka could swear to be a wink. He’s swept away before getting the chance to fully acknowledge it - the unmistakable sound of laughter following him out into the cold. 

“So you don’t drink,” he begins to process slowly, as a light push sends him stumbling in the direction of a familiar silver _Audi_ , “but you came all the way to a bar?” He watches Zuko over the roof as he fumbles for keys on the adjacent side, “Why?”

“My friend just started a new job there,” he meets him amongst the warmth of the leather interior, “a bunch of us came to support her.” he shrugs, “No big deal. Put your address in the GPS,” he sends a small smirk in his passenger's direction as an afterthought, “If you can remember it, that is.”

Sokka shoots a playful glare in return, allowing himself to relish in this brief moment of Zuko not chastising or lecturing him. Two can play at this game. He sits back, admiring the console, “So this is what the inside of a death machine looks like then.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

Sokka leans over the console slightly, “That’s like, at _least_ half of my personality.”

“You sound like a riot.”

“I am actually.”

“I’m sure.”

The sudden still in the conversation could be due to a lack of remaining things to say. But he imagines it’s more likely to do with the one, maybe two, remaining inches of space between their faces. The air in the car holds enough charge to light a match. For a moment, he’s pretty sure neither of them breathes. Then Zuko turns resolutely and clears his throat, dissolving the intimacy. Sokka pretends not to miss it. 

He watches the man replace his easy smirk with a reticent expression, eyes constricting in on the road ahead. Twenty-four hours ago, he assumed he’d never see him again, and yet it stings - even though it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t, because to want what he couldn’t have was a cornerstone of Sokka’s dating habits. Nothing lost, nothing gained. The same, over and over. He curses his bad luck, and closes his eyes, letting the smooth vibrations of the road lull him into sleep. 

***

“Sokka.” He wakes to a gust of cold air and a hand gently shaking his shoulder, he leans into the touch, almost unknowingly, trapping the hand between his neck and cheek. The person it belongs to makes a choked noise. Opening his eyes in curiosity, his view is as follows: a dark leather dashboard, a city night sky, an open door and standing in its absence a very stunned Zuko Homura. A very stunned Zuko with his hand held captive. Sokka realises his mistake immediately. 

“Sorry! Uh-” he snaps his head back up, a muscle somewhere screaming at him for it, “I must have fallen asleep.”

The man seems to shake his head, as if shrugging something off. “S’Ok- uh,” he stays planted in the car doorway, staring back at his passenger with wide eyes, “can- can you walk?”

“Um,” Sokka swings his legs round with perhaps too much zeal, as Zuko quickly scrambles out of the way. His hip groans in protest. Thankfully his feet land soundly, and manage to support his weight; he privately thanks whatever god exists that he doesn’t fall headfirst onto the pavement then and there. “Yeah, uh, I guess I sobered up in the car. Um. Fuck.” he furiously starts to pat down all his pockets. The impending dread on his face must be evident when he looks up. Zuko sighs exasperatedly. 

“They must have fallen out.”

“Get back in the car,” he’s already halfway round the vehicle to his own door. “Sokka.”

They sit in silence for what could be anywhere between two minutes and two hours, before Zuko stops frowning at the steering wheel long enough to talk. He glances at the time and winces. “They’ll probably be closing up soon.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Do you think your friend might-?” The hopeful quirk in his eyes is quickly diminished by a look of realisation, Sokka speaks his thoughts aloud. 

“I could try ringing her, but she’s probably busy with-”

“Yeah.” He rubs his eyes, resting his head back against the seat. “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

“Guess so.”

The journey back, Sokka spends far more awake, staring out of the window for the most part, interwoven with stolen glances to his right. They don’t talk, save for his apologies. After the sixth time he says he’s “sorry to be an inconvenience”, Zuko turns the radio on, and that's the end of it. His apartment is much flashier than Sokka’s, and by a mile at that. It takes a long stretch down a fast highway, before they approach a modern tower block - the kind usually only seen on television, with huge glass windows and sprawling balconies. He lets out a low whistle. 

“You _live_ here?”

“No,” Zuko deadpans, without looking as he collects his things, “we’re squatting.”

Sokka drinks in the interior as they walk through the lobby, “Either you’re the best paid junior doctor I’ve ever met, or this is, I don’t know, blood money.”

The man beside him coughs out a hard, unamused laugh, and jabs a button on the elevator, “Suppose you’ll never know.” 

By Sokka’s standards, which admittedly are low, Zuko’s apartment is one step removed from a hotel suite. He can only gawk at the plush furniture and colourful art pieces lining the walls, as their owner toes off his shoes and hangs his jacket by the door. 

“You can take the couch, I’ll get you a blanket.”

He catches his arm, almost on instinct as he passes, tearing his eyes from the grandeur, “This is-” 

“Too much? Yeah, I know. My sister designed it and then fucked off to Paris. But I don’t know, I kinda like it. Sure it’s a little excessive but-”

Sokka cuts him off, shaking his head fiercely, “No, _no_ , Zuko - I’m not judging your interior decorating skills.” He lets out a small laugh, “Just- thank you.” The other man raises an eyebrow inquisitively, and Sokka feels his cheeks burn, he drops his arm, “For uh letting me crash I- I mean.”

Zuko shrugs. “I hit you with my car, you lock yourself out of your apartment and spend the night on my couch. We’re even.”

“Yeah.” Sokka considers it, “Okay, yeah. Yeah! Even.” He flops himself down onto the L-section with about as much dignity as someone can possess half-drunk in the middle of the night - which is to say, not much. “So, Doctor Homura,” he croons, and revels in the way the Zuko’s face flares up automatically, “does you remarkable wealth extend to your cable package? Shall we find out?” 

He rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever. I’m getting you a blanket.”

***

By the time he returns, Sokka is three-quarters absorbed in a _Star Trek_ episode. Zuko leans over the back of the couch and stares at the tv. 

“Is this _Amok Time_?” He asks, tilting his head towards him. He raises an eyebrow in surprise, “Really?”

“Honestly it might be one of my favourites,” Sokka leans back slightly, “I mean, that fight scene? Incredible. A cinematic feat. I’ve never recovered.” He grins up at Zuko and pats the seat next to him, “You gonna join me, or just watch hunched over from back there?”

He hums, sliding onto the cushion. “It’s okay. I mean it’s not the worst episode.” Sokka turns to look at him in disbelief. 

“You don’t like it??”

“Kirk should never have agreed to it without knowing the full terms. That’s all I’m saying.” 

“Oh, I see,” he pokes him in the side, smirking, “you’re one of _those_ fans. Boring.” 

“Shut up.”

And maybe it’s the small grin creeping out beneath Zuko’s cold exterior, maybe it’s the fact Sokka really does enjoy this episode. But for whatever reason, in an entirely out of character decision, and for very possibly the first time in his life - he shuts up. They watch it, then two more, which turns into six more. When Sokka awakes for the second time that night it’s in a far more compromising position than the first. 

One lamp remains on, illuminating his left side. Save for that and the glow of the television, the rest of Zuko’s living room is blanketed in darkness. Repeats of old episodes continue to play out across the display. Sokka momentarily finds himself in the comfortable grey area between watching them and sleeping, before he registers the weight pushing against his right. Tucked away, features touched delicately by the cast of the screen and otherwise hidden, Zuko sits curled up beside him; dead to the world, head nestled against his shoulder. Waves of dark hair haphazardly frame his face, dragged out of his ponytail from sleep. Instinctively, Sokka reaches out and tucks some behind his unscarred ear. The small murmur he receives in return catches his breath. The way Zuko subsequently nuzzles his cheek against his skin is enough to stop his heart from beating altogether. 

He looks so much calmer when he’s asleep. All the harsh edges smoothed out, drifting away on a plane where nothing can elicit a furrowed brow or disgruntled sigh. Sokka loves the sharp tongue and fierce wit with which Zuko wields his words, loves the scathing remarks laced with mirth that invite a challenge, even when they shouldn’t. He was no longer a forgotten face lost amongst the memories of an accident. He was a mess of black hair and pink lips and a promise of something so much more. Complex and lonely, brooding and beautiful - oh so desirable down to every freckle and smirk. A gorgeous mind, wrapped up in a silently resting package. Sokka wonders what he’s dreaming of. Wonders if it could ever be of him. 

The blanket lies discarded, half on, half off the back of the cushions. With much remorse and what dwindling will power he can muster, threatened by the inclination to not move at all, he dislodges his arm and reaches for it. It’s a soft, blue-grey thing, quality conforming with that of Zuko’s other possessions. Expensive. Sokka unfurls it with utmost care and it comes to delicately rest atop their legs. He’s in the process of smoothing it down when a hand quickly finds his own, clasping onto it. 

“Zuko?”

“Mhmph.” 

The man’s face is turned away from him, pushing into the fabric behind them, eyes still shut, Sokka wonders if he’s even conscious of his actions. Would it be worse? To rip him from his slumber, confound him with the embarrassment of his sleep-fueled affections? A thumb rubs against the side of his hand. _Oh_. 

Perhaps he’s more aware than he thought. 

“Okay.” Sokka doesn’t move his hand away. In fact, he doesn’t move much at all, except to simply curl in towards the body beside him, and lay his cheek against the head beneath his own. The grip on his fingers steadfastly remains. As Zuko burrows deeper against his neck, every touch like a million tiny sparks, Sokka has only one thought: _maybe I could dream of you, too_. 

***

Suki’s text lies in wait on his phone screen long before the sun hits the horizon. True to character, the actions only of someone with all the book smarts in the world and no common sense to match it - Sokka has left his keys in her car. Only upon going back to retrieve the vehicle were they found, glittering unfortunately, on the passenger seat. He eyes the message with disdain, and then returns his attention to a far more pressing issue. 

Zuko. 

Zuko, who, apparently, wakes up at first light and proceeds to spend the best part of an hour in the bathroom. Sokka estimates he has five, maybe ten minutes, to get out of there. He’s _not_ running. But yeah, perhaps, the look of absolute horror on the guys face waking up to the sight of them intertwined had something to do with his exit. He’s seconds from the door, from breaking free, from an escapade to buy bagels - god he wants bagels - and go home and pass out for good. He’s seconds from the door _,_ but a bright yellow notepad catches his eye. An open blank page, a pen, all the allure of forbidden fruit. He’s not _awful_ at adjusting to write with his non-dominant hand. It wouldn’t hurt to leave Zuko something to remember him by, would it? Perhaps it’s on purpose, that Sokka doesn’t give his hungover brain enough time to answer that before he’s scrawling his number onto the paper. Ingraining a ‘maybe’ into their future. He draws a smiley face at the bottom. 

_The shower stops._ Sokka placates his brain with reassurance. In approximately twenty minutes time it’ll be discarded into the bin. Probably. Maybe. _The click of a bathroom door handle._ On the other hand: something starts here, a do-over of a first chance. Second beginnings. _Footsteps._ He grabs his jacket. The door closes behind him with a resounding click. And then he’s gone, out of the warmth, building behind him, down a random street. He doesn’t even know where, just far - to set enough distance between himself the potential mistake he just made. Away from the dangerous, back to the familiar. He walks.

Within a cafe’s wooden panel walls, Sokka waits, as a minute turns to an hour - and he slowly tries to swallow the feeling of rejection that claws at his throat. Zuko wasn’t his to have; to leave a number behind and expect communication in return had always been a fool’s errand. They shared a moment, but that was all it was. A break in the monotony of every-day life, a self-contained juncture in time. To wish for anything more simply warrants disappointment, Sokka tells himself this as he finishes his food. Tells himself this as he walks away from the building. Tells himself this as he stops outside Suki’s flat, exchanging keys for a rueful laugh and ignoring the sparkle of curiosity in her eyes. He tells himself this as he ascends his own stairs to a far less glamorous flat; his blankets don’t seem as soft, the cushions don’t feel as inviting. He tells himself this as he closes his eyes and his phone goes off. And his phone goes off.

And his phone. Goes off.

The world must move in slow motion as Sokka launches himself at the counter. Sweeping up the device in his arms, like a precious stone he’s committed his life to finding. Amongst a slew of untouched notifications and reminders is a call from an unknown number. He answers it immediately. 

“Sokka?”

“Zuko!” The word still comes out with a buzz, despite desperate efforts to cover the excitement in his voice. There’s a silence on the line. For one agonising second, it seems Zuko might change his mind entirely.

“Uh hey.”

Maybe not. 

“Hi.” 

Confident he’s likely not going to get hung up on, Sokka allows himself to breathe, pacing aimlessly around the floor until his feet find him in the kitchen. He hears the intake of a deep breath and halts, fingers centimetres away from the fridge door.

“So. Um.” There’s an obvious hesitation in his tone, Sokka can practically see him fidgeting. He imagines him, sat amongst his lavish decor, entirely out of place, face flushed. He suddenly regrets leaving at all. “What about that drink?”

His hand comes to rest on the fridge door, eyebrows shooting up, “What happened to ‘I don't drink’?”

A cough. “Alcohol.”

Sokka hums, opening the cooler and purveying its contents. 

“I don’t drink alcohol.” Zuko clarifies.

“Oh.” He stares openly at the carton directly in front of him. “Would juice work?

There’s another pause, spanning much longer this time. Sokka stands moments away from checking the line hasn’t dropped entirely before a single word breaks him from his thoughts. “Juice?”

“Orange.” He pulls it from the fridge, “And,” he glances at the television sitting in the corner, much smaller than what he’d be used to - but working all the same, “Star Trek?”

“Orange juice and Star Trek.” Zuko pieces the two suggestions together slowly, voice landing somewhere between surprised and contemplative.

Sokka’s confidence builds, “Orange juice and Star Trek.” He repeats, pouring some out, “I believe you know the address?”

There’s a small, shocked laugh and he wonders if Zuko’s wearing that same disbelieving smile, the very one he watched him with the previous night. That same twinkle of a smirk hidden behind stoic demeanour. “How about in twenty minutes?”

Sokka’s never had much luck, he always told anyone who asked that he didn’t believe in it. A Tuesday morning, caught out in blinding traffic stood to solidify this fact. Misplaced keys, lost to their owner in the middle of the night, would be absolute proof of it. Sokka never had much luck, perhaps Zuko, hitting someone with his car and getting unwittingly stuck with the same person, didn’t either. Unlucky together. Does it cancel out? He listens to Zuko’s quiet laugh breaking through the line, thinks of that laugh on an endless loop, threaded through his life from this moment forward. Maybe it’s the luckiest he’ll ever get to be. 

He grins around the lip of the glass.

“Make it ten.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you don't know, I'm currently writing a multichapter zukka fic (neighbours to lovers, modern au with bending) called Rose Colored Boy, and [you can check it out here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28039014/chapters/68690532)! Chapter 5 should be up very soon.
> 
> As always, leave a comment if you like and you can find me on tumblr @[tysukis](https://tysukis.tumblr.com/) <3


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